Our Expiration Date
by Cat's Catnip
Summary: As a cure for cancer fails, a bacterial plague spreads, causing a zombie apocalypse. Mark, Amy, Ethan, Tyler and Chica have been forced to fight for their survival against their own kind, alive and dead. As problems arise they are forced to fight and adapt, showing everyone their true colours. Rated M.
1. Chapter 1

**_Warning- kinda heavy stuff coming. If you're sensitive, please, it is rated M for a reason._**

 _'It started a year ago when scientists found new fungi near the equator. Turns out it was great at killing cancer cells. It was a worldwide phenomenon, people were finally being cured, families reunited. But it had a side effect, a bacterial plague which caused the patients to lose their sanity and convert back to their basic human instincts; kill, eat, survive. Humans worst enemy turned out to be themselves, even a sneeze from these "zombies" could mean the disease spreads to you. The population has dropped to less than 4 million and is getting smaller every day this hell goes on.'_

"Mark please," Ethan begged, muffled by his surgical mask, "Stop writing, we need to focus."

"Yeah, you're right," Mark said, he quickly closed his journal and shoved it in his backpack.

"I think Tyler said we didn't loot these houses yet, come on."

They hopped on their bikes and rode down the neighbourhood with the wind tingling the sweat on his scalp. Even though the world turned to shit, he almost felt normal. Almost.

Ethan pulled into the driveway of a cookie-cutter suburban home. At first, Mark had felt bad about breaking into people's houses, but now it was the only way to survive.

"Okay, I'll break the window, and jump in. I'll yell at you when it's clear." Mark said.

Ethan nodded. The Korean knew the younger wasn't fond of killing zombies, he couldn't really judge him though. It was a lot easier in the video games they had played. What an easier time that was.

Mark swung his baseball bat, shattering the glass. With the help of Ethan, he climbed inside.

The house was dark, the blinds pulled shut. It also smelled terrible, like sulphur, or rotting eggs. He crept around the bottom floor, his baseball bat wrapped in barbed wire ready to swing. He hated the silence.

Mark heard something in the kitchen. The zombie had no time to turn around before getting slammed on the side of the head and slumping to the ground

"Shit," Mark muttered, its blood swelling around his combat boots.

He turned and walked upstairs. He checked all the rooms for walkers, empty, except for one. A small boy, around 8 or 9 was milling around. Pus was leaking out of his eyes, his skin rotting, and his bones prominent. When he saw Mark, he grunted and walked towards him, his jaw unhinged, ready to eat. The most unsettling thing was his Tiny Box Tim plushie on the bed. Never had he stopped to consider that he would be killing his own fans.

He had remembered something Amy had said to him after Kathryn died. ' _They don't give remorse, so why should you?'_

He swung, and the boy dropped dead.

"All clear!" He shouted jogging down the steps.

"Okay! Coming in!" Ethan replied. A few grunts and small cuts of glass later, the boy was standing in front of him. "Ugh, what smells so bad."

"I don't know, but I'll take the downstairs, you take upstairs. Look for tampons and pads, Amy needs more." Mark told him.

"Umm, okay," Ethan said with a small blush.

"Oh my god Ethan, you need practice for when you get your own girlfriend."

"Shut up Mark!" he teased with a playful shove.

Mark went back to the kitchen, stepping over the dead corpse, giving it another hit just to be sure. They died pretty easy, just a really hard knock to the brain.

He shoved water, cans, medicine and some alcohol in his bag, he couldn't drink, but the others would appreciate it. There wasn't much downstairs that they needed, so Mark called up to Ethan he was done.

"Hey, Mark! There's a lot of candles up here! Should I light one to get rid of the stink? It's starting to burn my nostrils!" Ethan called.

Mark rolled his eyes. "Fine, just blow it out when you're done." He climbed back out the window to look around the house. Suddenly, it hit him, what the smell was from. He remembered when a gas line was broken near his street when he was younger, it had the same rotten egg aroma. "WAIT ETHAN DON'T-"

The explosion shook the house and blasted the upper floors windows out. Mark screamed and dropped to the ground, flames licked at his face. "ETHAN!" Mark sobbed.

Mark ran from the burning house, parts of his body burned and his clothes steaming. He could hear Ethan's wails of pain as he was being burned alive. Other zombies took notice to the loud boom and began to limp to the house.

Mark could hardly navigate his bike back to his house with tears blurring his vision and his nausea.

He stumbled to the door, Amy caught him before he fell. "What happened? Where's Ethan? We heard the explosion."

"I couldn't- I couldn't save him" Mark cried pulling Amy closer, She squeezed him tight. Who would they tease? Who would keep them sane? He couldn't believe he died like that, burned alive. He had a future, a dream.

"It's gonna be okay Mark," Tyler spoke softly.

"It's not fair." Mark wailed.

"Come on Mark, let's get you inside, you're hurt." Amy whispered kissing him on the forehead, tears dripping down her face.

"I'm gonna need some time alone," Tyler spoke, on the verge of tears.

The Korean laid down on the couch. "Amy, he deserved better, I heard him scream. It should have been me."

"Mark, please, don't say that." She squeezed her eyes shut.

Chica came up to him and put his head on his shoulder. The dog let out a small whimper

"Why can't we go back to the time where the only thing we worried about was what video we will upload. What if I forget his face? Oh god, I forget his laugh."

"I need to go." Amy murmured, tears finally streaming down her face "Please put cold water on your burns, it'll help."

She stood and left. Leaving Mark alone with his thoughts.

 _It should have been me._

* * *

 _ **To be continued...**_


	2. Chapter 2

**Blegh, I kinda feel like my writing style is too forced, like I write too rushed.**

 **Thoughts?**

 _'It's been two weeks since we lost Ethan, I don't know why I'm writing this. Nobody will find it. Kinda sad to think about that the world we live in will be crawling with those freaks, just eating each other. I can't stand to see them, to hear them. I want to go back, I'd do anything to go back. I know that one day I'll fuck up, and I'll be their next meal. Just, please, if you find this, make sure Amy and Tyler are safe. Chica too. They don't deserve this.'_

Mark sighed and shut his journal. Amy and Tyler were out looking for supplies with Chica. He hated being alone. He couldn't imagine them being stuck and never coming back home. What would he even do?

He shook the thoughts. Bad thoughts led to panicked people he told himself.

He pushed the chair back from the table, it's echoing noise reminded him of how much he was really alone. He liked quiet before, but not this type of quiet. The haunting silence of no cars, no planes. So quiet you can almost hear the moaning and shuffling of dead feet from the city.

Fuck, some coffee would be great right now. No, not great, absolutely fantastic. He hadn't had anything hot in days, the food had been brisker than his showers. Cans of vegetables, occasionally some fruit came along to cure his sweet tooth.

He remembered the last time he had coffee. He was watching tv on the couch, letting the steaming bean juice burn his palette. When the loud sirens started blaring from the screen he had thought it was another wildfire warning, common in Cali. But what he heard ruined his life, one of the most contagious diseases since the black plague ran rampant. They had advised all civilians report to the cities for euthanization, which they tried to do. But since the traffic had backed up, they went back. People ran into their death, they underestimated them, something Mark would never do again.

The first time he saw one was the same day Kathy had died. He hesitated and that had cost her life. He blamed himself and still does. By the time he had got to her, she was infected. The sweet but shy girl who had helped him edit and film wanted him to die. She was the first and hardest zombie he had to kill. He failed her like he failed Ethan.

A short knock on the door prompted him to open it. He wiped away a rogue tear. His heart lurched with joy, Amy was back.

But she wasn't alone. Behind his girlfriend, Tyler and Chica stood four men with their shot guns pointed at their heads. They wore all black with two spray painted 'M's on the front. All of them Mexican with intimidating face tattoos.

One of them nodded his head toward his group of friends, which all had their hand raised in defense. "Found these gringos tryin' to steal shit from our street." He gave a toothy grin, "Thought we'd escort them home, right José?"

"Yeah." The man with the name of José agreed. He smiled creepily at Amy, which made Mark feel angry.

 _Fuck, are these guys gang members?_ The only 'gun' they had was a small bb pistol in Tyler's bag. But he felt if any of them put their arms down, they'd get a bullet to the brain. Guess, the only thing to do was to talk.

"Hey man", Mark spoke, "We mean no trouble, honest."

"Muertos are walking on the street. We trust nobody." another guy said. "For all we know you might be one of em'" He pointed his weapon in between Mark's eyes.

"I'm not, we're not. We're all trying to survive, just like you." The Korean prompted. He saw the desperation in his friend's eyes, Chica let out a small whimper and tucked her tail farther in between her hind legs. This conversation was going nowhere.

"You ain't nothin' like us." The first man said.

"Carlos, chill," José responded. "They're no threat to us, the muertos will take care of em soon enough." He let out a raspy laugh. "¡vamos!"

He turned and all of them followed, chuckling about them in Spanish, betting on how long they'd survive.

Mark stood in shock. They let them go. His heart was racing, he'd thought they'd be dead for sure.

"Holy shit," Tyler said as they all plopped down on the couch. He took a large swig of water from his canteen.

"That, that was close," Amy said, looking at Mark.

How close had they been to death? He always thought the walkers were the main threat, he never considered the other living. They were so defenseless.

"You need to be more careful guys, we all could have gotten killed," Mark said, standing and began pacing the length of the living room.

"What are you talking about!" Amy countered and squared up to him, her fists clenched in defiance.

"Woah, guys-" Tyler began, grabbing Amy's wrist. She pulled away from his wrist and stepped closer to her boyfriend.

"What I mean is, don't go stepping in gang territory!" Mark yelled, waving his hand to the door, suddenly getting angry at someone questioning him.

"They were on our street! We need more supplies, Mark!" Amy growled

"Just search other houses!"

"Ugh, if you would just get off your lazy ass once in a while you would understand." She whipped around and walked toward the bedroom, promptly slamming the door to clarify her feelings.

"Well-" Mark started, trying to continue the argument. Tyler pulled him down to the couch.

"Dude, just breathe, okay?" He offered him his water bottle, which mark took and drank large gulps of. He never realized how thirsty he had been. When _was_ the last time he drank something? He handed back the bottle and wiped the excess from his mouth

"She pisses me off sometimes," The Korean said, rocking back and forth, his arms crossed tight and his short nails gripping his skin.

"Well, you can piss us all off too." His stone face turning into a smile, then fading again. "You might, uh, want to talk to Amy, something happened when we were, uh, when we were out."

His face was pointed to the floor, deliberately avoiding eye contact.

"Yeah, okay, sure," Mark spoke, noticing Tyler's actions. He got up and walked to the bedroom door.

Before he touched the doorknob, Tyler said something, "Mark? Where did you put the water again?" he held up his bottle, a few drops of liquid sloshed at the bottom. "I'm still kinda thirsty."

"Oh, kitchen, middle shelf in the pantry," Mark said with a nod and proceeded into his bedroom.

"Amy?" He whispered. The blinds were tightly shut and boarded up, the only light coming in was from a small window on the roof, letting in a natural spotlight.

He heard quiet crying from under the covers, he pulled off his shoes and slipped into bed with her, wrapping his thick arm around her tiny waist and pulling her close.

"They touched me, Mark," Amy whispered.

"What?" He replied, surprised by her sudden confession.

"Those men, they touched my chest." Another sob escaped her lips, he squeezed her lightly

"Oh, no. Baby, it's gonna be alright." But it wasn't, nothing will be alright, his blood began to boil. _Those fuckers will pay._

Suddenly a loud crash came from outside of the room, items falling on the tile floor. A low moan of a zombie seemed to echo in the quiet house. Chica's barks came out paniced and urgent.

 _Shit. Tyler._

Both of them quickly jumped out of bed. They had left their weapons in the living room. Amy handed Mark a broken lamp, she wiped some snot from her top lip. Her eyes shone with determination. Mark gave her a quick kiss and ran outside the room, his girlfriend close behind.

The zombie was hunched over in the kitchen, Tyler was nowhere to be seen. Probably hiding he thought.

The intruder turned and Mark swung and swung. Its blood splattered over the cabinets. It's eyeballs and guts spilling out of the holes on their face. It finally slumped to the ground, dead, for the second time.

Amy was screaming and crying, tugging the lamp from his hands. He was about to calm her down when he realized why. The zombie he had just beat to death was Tyler. The disease had spread to the house.

It was in the water.

* * *

 _ **To be continued...**_


End file.
